


To Heal

by perksofdorothy



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Blood and Injury, Canon Compliant, F/M, Falling In Love, Nurse - Freeform, Smut, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-10-12 19:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17473379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perksofdorothy/pseuds/perksofdorothy
Summary: She grabs for his arms and with a snap, his sleeves, already slightly severed by her prior attempts to cut them off, are neatly ripped from his armour. A loud rattling and clinging tells Darcy that at least half of the supplies have hit the floor and broke into bits but something else catches her attention. The skin on Prince Loki’s right lower arm, where she had spotted the bloody patch earlier and suspected a deep wound, is indeed wildly torn – and azure blue, with raised markings in odd shapes scattered around the flesh.Darcy is a healer in training in Asgard. One day, the two Princes are admitted to their ward and it is there that Darcy makes a surprising discovery about the man second in line to the throne.Starts before Thor and spans until the end of Dark World.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am trying to finish some of those ficlets that have lain dormant on my computer for over four years and I stumbled upon this little idea that I never finalized but have always had in the back of my mind. I am slightly afraid that this pairing is slowly dying because it was really my first true OTP and I keep going back to the same stories that I have loved ever since I started reading FFs. So I am making an effort to maybe revive a couple of ideas and contribute again to a fandom that I have never really abandoned.
> 
> This is in a way an AU and also canon compliant in the way that Darcy is not the Darcy from the movies but an apprentice in the nursing rooms, yet it will kind of follow the course of the first Thor movie. I hope this makes any sense at all.
> 
> While the first chapter is a full-on chapter, the following ones will be realized in more of a vignettes type of style. Because of my job I will not be able to commit to a full multi-chapter story, but I want to guide this little plot bunny home.
> 
> Comments are highly appreciated and I will do my very best to finish this!

Of course Darcy has heard of him.

Who hasn’t? Though she has heard rather more about his brother, the gallant golden son of Odin, Thor, the one wielding the hammer. Strapping, handsome, with eyes like the mighty sky and hair like amber waves. Not much of a talker and thinker, if you choose to believe the rumours, but then again, who would expect someone as brawny and bulky as him to be the brooding type of philosopher?

The other prince, they say, is much the opposite. Not the fighting type, rarely ever does he show his skills in the training grounds. He is said to be more of an observer, easy to overlook, yet too dangerous to forget. Sly, the snake charmer, the mischief maker, the silver-tongued trickster with a brain as sharp as Asgard’s finest blades and cheekbones like those of a marble statue.

Of course she has heard of them both, seen them in the Great Hall on special occasions when even the serving class such as hers would be allowed to join.

But she has never met them before. 

* * *

 

Her superior rarely loses her temper, yet today even the ever so professional Eir is wearing thin.

The masses of warriors the healing maidens are presented with keep piling up in the nursing beds and Darcy has trouble hurrying through the crowded aisles of cots without slipping on a loose bandage or knocking over a cup of healing broth.

The fighting is said to be almost over, yet the amount of injured arriving at the station speaks another language. The supplies seem to thin by the minute while the blood taints every inch and corner. Glancing down her attire, Darcy can barely see the light blue cotton shimmering through the stains of blood, rust and dirt – the presents left behind by her many charges.

The Jötuns have fought without honour, so it seems.  Frost bites cover the bodies of the wounded soldiers and loss of limb is no surprise anymore. So far, death has avoided stealing itself into the ranks of the army, but it might only be a matter of time someone of the Aesir warriors pays for his courage with life itself.

Her mate Ana almost violently grabs her by her elbows and Darcy is unceremoniously pulled away from her current charge, a boy, not even a man yet, who has survived a swing with a Jötun claw that tore right through his face. Darcy has just finished sewing the deep slit and provided him with a potion powerful enough to grant him a few hours of painless slumber when Ana hurries her away. Her lips move so quickly Darcy can barely catch her words.

“What?” she inquires impatiently and wipes her bloody hands on the skirt of her attire.

Ana’s olive-toned skin is flushed red with excitement. “They will be coming, both of them!”

“Who?”

“The princes! They fought in first line – and they won! But both are hurt! Do you hear me? They are bringing them here!”

Darcy is too tired to share her friend’s animation. But to know the war is finally over, to know that the realm might finally be safe, is good news at last.

“Finally!” she sighs and pushes back her thick braid of hair.

Ana turns her head, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets while she focuses on the entry of the healing room. “Were you listening to a word I said? The princes will be here – Thor will be here! We will meet him, treat him, touch him!”

She giggles at her friend’s words. She would be lying if she said she was not just a little bit curious to know whether the crown prince’s eyes were as blue as they seemed from afar.“Who says _we_ will treat them?” Darcy taunts her companion. “First come, first served.”

Before Ana can even attempt a snarky reply, the doors of the infirmary are pushed open again – and two men are carried into the depths of the healing chambers. One of them almost dangles over the sides of the stretcher, his shoulders almost too large to fit on the thin layer of cloth that carries his body, his arms motionless on his chest. The other one appears to be less harmed, his black-haired head glancing over to his brother with worried eyes. His right arm is awkwardly bent to rest on his chest and is kept in place by the other arm, shielding it from curious looks. The nicks and cuts on his hand are surrounded by dried flecks of blood.

Eir jumps right to the side of the warriors that carry their wounded princes in, her hands almost flying over the limp bodies. At Darcy’s side, Ana can barely contain her excitement, her fingers fidgeting, apparently eager to start working on her desired subject. Out of the corners of her eyes, Darcy can even spot the hint of a smile around her friend’s lips.

The healing maiden in charge casts her glance towards her two apprentices, her look determined and apparently she does not appreciate the unprofessionalism of her subordinates.

“Do you two need an invitation?” she snarls and unceremoniously pushes Darcy over to the stretcher on her left. “Ana, I will need another pair of hands with our crown prince. Darcy, you tend to His Majesty in the other room.”

Ana throws Darcy a smug grin that luckily goes unnoticed by their superior and follows Eir and their patient to the main healing room.

Silently, Darcy motions the two guards to another chamber in the back of the healing rooms and quickly follows them. A slight shake runs through her hands and for the first time it dawns on her that right now, she will be treating a member of the royal family. _No mistakes allowed then_.

The two men carrying the stretcher place their liege down and exit the separate chamber, leaving Darcy to start her work. Prince Loki now has his eyes closed, apparently in a state of shock-induced calm and the shallow breath that comes from his nose brushes against Darcy’s shaking hands as she starts to untie the first layer of his armour, careful not to cause him any pain from wounds not yet detected. His skin is paler than she would have guessed and the bruises around his neck and eyes are even darker compared to his fair complexion.

Suddenly, his eyes shoot open again and with quite an amount of shock, he stares right into her eyes.

“Who are you?” he demands in a husky voice, sitting up with a suppressed gasp of pain when he raises his shoulders from the bed.

His breath has sped up and Darcy immediately takes her hands a few inches back from him, trying not to further irritate him. “You are in the healing chambers, my lord,” she answers with false patience as his eyes seemingly look right into her.

“Where is Thor?” His tone is a tone of someone who is used to have his commands obeyed and the hidden ire in his voice gives away his apparent displeasure. He ignores the blood oozing from his right eyebrow and out of the corner of her eyes, Darcy can spot a dark wet patch forming on his clothes underneath where his arm still rests on his chest.

“He is treated by the Lady Eir and another maiden, my lord, they-“

“Is he alright?” he cuts right through her attempted explanation and Darcy has to reign in her slight discontent with his lack of politeness. One should think a prince would know how to behave.

“I am sure he will be fine, his wounds did not appear to be of any immediate danger to his life.” She chooses her words very wisely, careful not to cause his blood to boil.

Before he can shoot another commanding question at her, she proceeds to relieve him of his now blood-soaked sleeves.

“What are you doing?” The prince hisses at her attempt of cutting away the stained clothing. He fusses and as he tries to pull away, his face contorts with obvious pain from the movement in his lower arm.

Darcy ignores his protest. “You are wounded and I am here to treat said wounds.” Her impatience is thinly veiled. She presses the back of her hand against his forehead. It burns with fever, she will need to act quickly and treat him.

But he only tries to push her away and messily manages to sit up on the cot, his legs now swung over on one side, in an attempt to get up.

“I need to see him.” His voice is slightly pitched with something very akin to panic and by the way that he struggles with sitting upright, she knows the loss of blood is burning through his body and will soon continue to mess with his consciousness. His hands are shaking like leaves.

Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “Please, you need to lie down, you are hurt, I am sure there will be time for you to speak –“

“NOW!” Loki’s hoarse voice roars and he grabs her by her arms, pushing her away from him, shoving her into the tray of utensils and pots next to his cot. As he pushes her off, her hands take hold of the nearest thing to cling on to prevent her from falling to the ground. She grabs for his arms and with a snap, his sleeves, already slightly severed by her prior attempts to cut them off, are neatly ripped from his armour. A loud rattling and clinging tells Darcy that at least half of the supplies have hit the floor and broke into bits but something else catches her attention. The skin on Prince Loki’s right lower arm, where she had spotted the bloody patch earlier and suspected a deep wound, is indeed wildly torn – and azure blue, with raised markings in odd shapes scattered around the flesh.

For a moment, both of them are silent, frozen in shock. Subconsciously, Darcy reaches out to let her fingers graze the eerie looking deep blue skin of the princes arm. It is only the lower part, the blue slightly fades and blends seamlessly into his normal hue from the elbow upwards. She pulls back as her fingers feel the cold emanating from his skin.

Her eyes dart back to her patient, full of shock and surprise. The royal prince with Jötun skin on his arm?

Loki stares back at her, a mixture of fear and panic again mirrored in his face. It is the panic that hits her most of all and it suddenly dawns on her why he wanted to talk to his brother so desperately.

But before either of them can say a word, the sound of quick footsteps interrupts the silence.

Darcy has only a split-second to decide. She pushes the prince back on his cot unceremoniously and grabs one of the blanket from beneath his bed and quickly covers his still shiningly bright blue arm with the thick material.

Not a moment later, Eir storms into the chamber, her face red with exhaustion and apparent anger. Eir catches sight of the broken shards of glass and the messed floor and her nostrils quiver.

“What in the nine realms happened here? What was that noise?”

“It was my fault,” Darcy replies with a false apologetic look, “I tripped.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she can see Loki clutching the blanket around his wounded arm, as his chest rises, but whether it is with nervousness or fatigue, she cannot tell. He closes his eyes and deeply exhales. Darcy could have sworn the tension that had tightened his form before now seemed to ease.

The woman in front of her demands Darcy’s attention again as she answer courtly and with obvious annoyance.

“I suggest you watch your feet, Darcy. And I expect you to clean up this mess after you tended to your patient, hopefully now with a lot more care. We have no use for clumsiness, especially not now!” The hidden warning in her words does not go unnoticed by Darcy who obediently nods and casts her glance down.

The sound of the door thrown shut and the accompanying sound of withdrawing footsteps allows Darcy to relax again and with a little sigh she turns to face her patient again.

His eyes are still closed and by the shallow breaths he draws, he appears to be asleep, succumbed to the tireness of even unconsciousness, his fingers still loosely clutched around his wounded arm.

As Darcy takes a look at her own arms, she sees the little half-moon-shaped dents the prince’s fingernails have left on her skin. She absentmindedly strokes them and then looks at the sleeping figure on the cot again.

With timid movements, she removes the cloth from his grasp, prepared to face what she had caught a glimpse at before. But, to her great surprise, she finds no such thing. Beneath the thick woollen blanket, she finds his skin white, pristine except for the deep gash that runs along his lower arm. No signs of any abnormal change in pallor, no hint of blue anywhere.

Did she imagine what she believed to be a Jötun marked arm?

She glances back at the prince’s face and even in his sleep, he looks haunted and restless.

No, she did not. He saw it, too, and tried to hide it.

Darcy sighs, at loss of what to make of this. She pulls a little stool for her to sit on over to the bed and with her utensils now drawn up in her lap, she starts to tend to the actual wound. It is not as bad as she had believed it to be before. A deep cut, probably slashed with a blade, but not too deep to have marked the bone, easy to heal. It might scar but with a bit of luck, she might even prevent that.

The flesh is warm to her touch, smooth. Her eyes dart back to the sleeping man at her hands. Could it have been part of his wound, too, an imprint left on him by the fighting?

As a little rivulet of scarlet drips from the slit, Darcy pushes her thoughts aside. It is not important, she tells herself. First things first. And with still trembling fingers, she begins to sew up the wound, trying to ignore the doubt slowly purring in her guts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take it as a sign of the universe that I fell sick and had to stay in bed for the past five days. Therefore, I managed to write quite a bit!
> 
> Thank you for everyone who has commented, bookmarked, kudos-ed or simply just read so far! I hope you are enjoying this new chapter.

By the time she is done sewing his wounds and cleaning away any remaining stains of blood, the moon hangs high and her fingers start to ache with the constant stretching and bending. Thankfully, Eir has refrained from returning to scold her clumsy apprentice and Darcy has spent the last hours in silence, only accompanied by the slow ebb and flow of breath of the prince beneath her fingers.

As she rises to clean and put away her utensils, she takes one last look at her patient. He is still waxen and asleep, but the sheen of sweat that had shown earlier on his forehead is now gone and overall, he seems more at ease.

Her glance is drawn once more to his lower arm where, just a few hours ago, she could have sworn she had seen Jötun skin on the arm of one of the members of the royal family. His arms had remained even and flesh-coloured for the remainder of her presence.

Did she imagine it? She has worked on the victims of the Jötuns all day, it might have just been a trick that her exhausted mind had played on her.

The soldiers talk in their pain and their panic when they are admitted to the healing ward. The trauma they have suffered needs to be shared with any listening ear so that the weight of what has happened to them may be lifted off their chests. It is one of the first things Eir taught them: Healing needs more than a pair of quick hands and salves. Healing happens in the head, too.

Darcy sighs and casts her glance on her patient once more. Before her eyes, the panic that had manifested on Prince Loki's face reappears and she is sure: What she saw was no trick of her mind. His panic had been real and so had been his relief at her lie. Whatever it had been, it disappeared as quickly as it came. Maybe a magical malfunction in which his own magic mirrored that of his attacker? Her knowledge covers the secrets of the body that have to do with physicality, not the elusive ways of magic. But it might still be possible for her to find out what it caused, if she only had a moment alone to talk to him.

She ought to tell Eir. It would be the right thing to do, technically. Anything out of order needs to be reported, she knows that. But his reaction leaves that out of the question. The Jötuns had raged war on Asgard for centuries. Anyone who would be seen showing Jötun markings would be branded a traitor or an enemy of Asgard. Her gut reaction had been to prevent him from that fate. And if Darcy believed in one thing, it is her gut.

She makes sure to close the door to his chamber as silently as she can. It is time for her to retreat to her own chamber. Tomorrow, she vows, she will check on him first thing. If he is awake then, she might get her chance. But for now she can hear her bed calling for her tired limbs.

* * *

She is not the only one eager to return early to work on the next morning. Darcy hears Ana before she spots her down the corridor on her way.

"Darcy!!" Her friends keens and wraps herself around Darcy's arm like a little monkey. "Darcy, my sweet, don't you think we have the most beautiful profession in all the realms?"

Ana's voice chimes like a bell and Darcy cannot help but laugh. "Let me guess, your sudden love for healing maybe has something to do with your tall and handsome patient yesterday?"

Both women giggle. Ana is still clinging to Darcy's arm and hums a happy tune. Her face is full of smug secrecy and she is clearly just waiting to be asked, bursting with all she has seen and done yesterday.

Who is Darcy to deny her the pleasure? "Come on, spit it out!" She clasps her hand around Ana's arm and positively drags her down the steps, genuinely curious to hear whether her friend's meeting with royalty went at least a bit better than hers. She leans into her friend and whispers conspiratorially: "How close did you get? Did Eir go all matron on you and made sure you didn't touch any naked royal skin? Does he look as good without the armour as he does with it on??"

Ana's eyes are clouded with dreamy memories and she sighs: "Eir only has two eyes and hands and would have needed much more to keep me from Prince Thor. I was appointed to hand her the tools and that left me plenty of opportunity to brush against his shoulders and arms and side and all. By the end I was even allowed to sponge his perfect face!"

Darcy can barely suppress a laugh. Only the Norns know what Ana might have gotten up to during the short moments when Eir was off scolding Darcy for her clumsiness. It would be too easy not to tease. "Poor Prince Thor. Beaten, unconscious, heavily wounded and now also cornered and molested by an amorous fan of his!"

Ana gasps with false indignation. "I did not molest him!" She shakes her head so her long tresses dispense their signature smell of lavender. "And he was not heavily wounded. Just a couple of scratches. He was likely only unconscious because the shock."

Ana's face shows no shame at all when she turns to face her friend. "You are just jealous. While I enjoyed the best few hours of my career so far and got to see my handsome prince shirtless, you got stuck with the petulant one." Now Ana's eyes are alight with sass. "And at least I didn't spill half my instruments across the floor because I was so _enamoured_ by my patient and had to be scolded by Eir." Her eyebrows quirk with friendly glee as she gives her words an extra bit of childish song.

But all Darcy can focus on is that Ana apparently has noticed that something was amiss. To Darcy's relief however she came to exactly the wrong conclusion. This makes it far easier to skirt the issue. Darcy makes sure to moan extra dejectedly. "And scolding me she did. But I was less distracted by my handsome prince and simply just tired. Prince Loki was unconscious the entire time, so there was little time to _flirt_ as unashamedly as you did."

The emphasis on the word prompts Ana to smile again, but now it is laced with sympathy and humour. "Don't worry. I'll make sure to invite you to my wedding to Prince Thor and then you'll have your second chance."

Darcy splutters. "I am sure the ceremony would be very lovely and classy. You might even be able to sponge his face during your vows!"

Ana rolls her eyes but cannot hide her laughter. "Oh yes, you go ahead and tease. Your invitation just got cancelled."

* * *

 

Eir is already in when they arrive at the healing rooms.

"Good morning you two." Her voice is tense and Darcy immediately knows why. Her eyes quickly scan the room, just to be sure, but he would always be noticeable. Among the many patients, there is most definitely no prince to be seen. Her stomach drops as the chance to talk to Prince Loki suddenly has evaporated. He will surely have left with his brother.

Ana appears to have come to the same conclusion. Her hand, seconds ago clutched around Darcy's arm, drops almost comically and falls limply to her side. "Where is Prince Thor?"

Their superior busies herself with tidying her work station and avoids looking at her apprentices. "The princes have been moved to their own rooms."

"They left? Both of them?" The disappointment in Ana's voice is palpable. Darcy's eyes dart towards the door to the back but just as she tries to spot her patient, Eir confirms Ana's fear.

"Yes, Their Highnesses left earlier this morning." Eir spots the sad look on Ana's face. "Oh, come now. You knew they would not stay here for the remainder of their healing." She lowers her glance towards the scissors she is cleaning with far more vigour than a few stains of blood would require. "The princes have access to the private healers and their health will improve much quicker if they are allowed to stay in their own chambers."

The ensuing scowl from Eir confirms Darcy's suspicion that the decision was made without her consent or at the very least against her advice. Darcy wonders whether the brothers managed to talk before they were brought back to their own rooms and whether Prince Loki had anything to do with the rushed release from the healing chambers. Had he finally been able to talk to his elder brother and tell him of yesterday's... affliction of his? If it had truly been a magical problem, then their mother, Queen Frigga, would be the first one to ask. She would be more capable of healing such a thing than even Eir would be.

Either way, the problem is out of Darcy's hands now, there is nothing she can do anymore.

* * *

"Darcy, I will need a moment with you alone."

Darcy's shoulders hunch up in response. A moment alone with Eir is never good. It usually means that she has done something wrong which usually results in either being scolded or that she will be asked to do something again but this time better.

Mechanically, Darcy wipes her hands on the apron around her hips and smoothes down the long arms of her light blue dress. She follows the beckoning of her superior to the supply chamber, the curious and alarmed gaze of Ana burning into her neck.

Eir has already started packing a bundle of supplies: Bandages, tongs, needles and strong thread, a bottle of cleaning solution, pads to cover a wound, herbs that will stymie an infection, all stuffed into a bag for travel.

Darcy quirks her eyebrow. "Am I going somewhere?"

Eir pushes a strand of gray hair behind her ear and ties a secure knot over the bag. "Yes, you are." She turns and hands Darcy the package. But Darcy is still too puzzled to move.

"Am I allowed to know where?" she inquires sourly and wants to immediately smack her forehead for her loose tongue.

Eir's eyebrows shoot up to meet her hairline. She takes a deep breath through her nose, probably to  avoid paying Darcy back in kind for her cheek. Darcy will receive that payback later, she is sure. Scrubbing the bed pans it is for her, without a doubt.

Eir lowers the outstretched hand. "I have received a royal message. While Prince Thor seems fine, his brother's wounds apparently need to be looked at again. And they specifically asked for the healer who has treated him to be sent."

Darcy feels her hands break out in sweat. The fluttering feeling in her stomach does nothing to help with that. The princes have the royal healers at their disposal. Seasoned healers like Eir, not apprentices like her. There is only one reason why he would want to see her again. Seems like she will get her chance to ask him yet.

Her lack of shock does not go by Eir. "You are not surprised, I take it?"

Darcy swallows. She should have reported anything strange to her superior, she knows that full well. But she hadn't and doesn't feel like doing it even now. Firstly, because it meant confessing to Eir that she had lied that day when Eir had come into the chamber to ask what the commotion was about. And secondly, because Darcy still believes that she has done the right thing.

"It seems only right that a wound is looked after by the same person who tended to it first. " It sounds weak even to her ears.

Eir observes her closely, then sighs. "I hope that you are right and that that is the only reason. We cannot afford a mistake under such scrutiny. Can I trust that you have taken proper care of your patient and will also do so today?"

Understanding dawns on Darcy. Eir is not angry with her, at least not because of the invitation. Darcy might not be the best healer in training there is but this has nothing to do with it. Eir does not want to chastise her, she is afraid of the close watch this puts her and her apprentices under.

"It was just a very deep flesh wound. Too deep to be only bandaged but not deep enough to have nicked the bone. It needed sewing and cleaning. Nothing more. I will examine the sutures and I am sure that by now I might be able to remove the stitches." Not a lie, not the truth by far. The wound had not really been that deep but a little tear would not need a check up after three days. That she should be asked for will be more believable this way and at least keep Eir from worrying.

Eir nods her understanding. "A sharp pair of scissors, too, then." She quickly snatches a pair of silver scissors from a drawer and adds them to the package.

Darcy takes her supplies from Eir and squares her shoulders. She might finally get an answer to the questions still burning in her.

* * *

They apparently have already expected her and she is shown to a, comparatively, modestly furnished room with beautiful large windows facing the sea that flows under the Bifrost. If for nothing else, this breathtaking view alone would have been worth the trip.

But her patient is already there, waiting for her. Prince Loki stands facing the door through which she came, his hands clasped behind his back, making it hard for her to see the bandages she had wrapped only a few days ago. He looks fresher and more healthy than he did when she last saw him. The colour has returned to his pale complexion and his hair is washed and kempt. There is an alertness in his eyes that betrays his calm demeanour. He is dressed simply in a tunic and pants but Darcy can tell from afar that they are made from far better material than her uniform would ever be. Oddly enough though, she is sure that he has chosen this room and his attire to underline the casual tone of their meeting. Just a simple check up, nothing to see here.

It is not her place to speak to him first and so she contends herself with closing the door behind her. They both know exactly why she is here and is has nothing to do with any wound he might have suffered.

The prince breaks the silence. "Thank you for coming, Healer...?"

"Lewis." Darcy answered, prepared for the surprise her unusual last name will cause. And she is right. An eyebrow is raised at the foreign surname but to her surprise, Prince Loki does not ask any further.

"Healer Lewis, yes." He unfolds his hands and draw his right, bandaged arm close to his stomach, allowing her so see that the bandages apparently have not been changed since she tended to him. Interesting, Darcy thinks, but not really a surprise. He might be afraid of what the other healers may find underneath.

"I was hoping you would be so kind as to examine the wound again. Just to make sure that it is healing properly."

Without giving her time to reply, he takes a seat at the small table in the left corner of the room and gestures for her to take the seat opposite him. She hesitates, her hand clutching the handle of her bag.

Prince Loki flashes her a polite smile. "Please, take a seat."

Diversion is apparently his plan and Darcy doesn't dare change the course of the conversation. He could have addressed the issue already but chose not to for whatever reasons. And if she still wants her answers, then she may as well play along.

Dropping the bag onto the table, she takes a seat opposite him and takes his proffered lower arm into her hands.

The seconds it takes her to unwrap the bandages around his lower arm seem too loaded with anticipation for her to concentrate on anything else. His breath is as drawn as hers and neither of them speak. The muscles in his lower arm are flexed like those of animal preparing to pounce. _Now or never_ , she thinks as she removes the last wrap. She half expects the skin underneath to be cerulean and covered in raised markings and patterns but to her relief all she finds is pink, tender skin with a suture that closes a deep flesh wound.

She takes a moment to examine the tear and is satisfied with her work. She nods her approval. "It looks good. It heals properly and the wound has closed enough that I can remove the stitches, if you wish." Her eyes dart to find his gaze. "But the bandages ought to have been changed before today."

She pushes her luck here because she can just imagine why he has not let anybody change the bandages.

Her patient is still intently focused on her. "Will it leave a scar?" he asks, ignoring her comment.

Darcy shakes her head. "You can never be sure but judging from how it has healed so far, I would say no."

He nods in reply and she can almost see the thoughts running through his mind. Darcy uses his silence to open her bag and lay out her supplies. The used bandages are discarded and she unscrews the bottle of cleaning solution, preparing the wound for the stitches to be removed.

His next questions catches her off guard. "You are not fully Aesir, if I understand correctly?"

Darcy deeply exhales to control her impatience. Of course he understands correctly. Always the same questions with everyone. Just because her last name is obviously not Aesir doesn't mean that she enjoys always being answered the same questions. Being different is not a welcome conversation starter for her; it usually just sucks. "No. But I have always lived with my mother, who is Aesir."

"And your father..?"

"Isn't." The answer she always has to give shoots from her mouth before she conceal the annoyance that they are laced with. She tries to focus intently on her task at hand, gently dabbing the already perfectly clean scab with cleaning solution, anything to busy herself with.

Prince Loki cocks his eyebrow at what others, especially her superior, would consider insolence. Still, she is sure that, out of the corner of her eyes, she sees the a tiny bit of amusement in his face. "I will take that as hint to change the subject."

"Please do." Darcy nods, averting her gaze again in a gesture of apology. "Your Highness." she adds as an afterthought.

He shifts in his chair as she reaches for her pair of scissors. "I will need to remove the stitches now. This might burn a little when I pull the thread." she warns.

"Why did you lie?" He asks out of the blue, ignoring her statement.

She is absolutely certain that he purposefully chose this moment to ask that question. Every question and comment so far must have been meticulously planned and so is his decision to broach the subject now. If she wasn't holding a sharp object that needed her attention, she would wish to look at him. A million answers burn on her tongue, all of them not good enough.

She settles on the truth. "I don't know." She carefully severs the first black thread.

Even through the snapping of the scissors, she can hear him swallowing.

She severs the second thread, then the third, waiting for him to say something to relieve the tension. But he apparently is still waiting for her to elaborate.

"You were afraid I was going to talk." she states instead.

This seems to wake him from his silence. "I had expected you to."

Only now it dawns on her what he must have gone through for the past days, just waiting for soldiers to storm his rooms and arrest him because of her testimony. A stranger has witnessed something that might put him in the position of a traitor and enemy to the crown. A stranger who could have used this knowledge for blackmail or worse. It shouldn't hurt that he thought so little of her, but it does. Suddenly it seems to take her an awful lot of time to make the final two cuts. "Did _you_ tell someone?"

His reply takes half an eternity. "No." His reply is hoarse and quiet. "I couldn't explain it."

So he had not turned to his brother after all. But no, Darcy probably wouldn't have told anyone either. Who would believe such a thing? "I understand."

She is done with her scissors and carefully places them back on the sheet of cotton. With the prongs in her hand and her other hand still gently holding his arm, she turns to face Prince Loki. There is fear and guardedness in his eyes but also a question hanging there.

"I saw the panic in your face right when I tore off your sleeve. You were trying so hard to hide it from me and that didn't strike me as dangerous but rather as terrified. A traitor would not be afraid." She tries a timid smile. "For whatever my promise is worth, I promise not to tell."

Under her hand on his arms, she can feel the tension seeping out of his body. His gaze is so strong, it feels like a brush of fingertips on her face. "Your promise is worth a lot."

The air in the room has changed. The unspoken questions are no longer hanging in the air and it feels like a gush of fresh air has swept through. And while Darcy has not necessarily received the answer she had been looking for, she still feels relief. Though hers must be nothing compared to the prince's.

Darcy turns her attention to the pieces of thread needing to be pulled. With a little tug, the thread pulls easily from the wound. A droplet of blood oozes from the hole, as is expected, and the blood is red and opaque and shows no sign of puss.

"Ouch." Her patient comments dryly.

Darcy raises her eyebrow mockingly and looks at him. "Please. If this is painful, then you are lucky you were unconscious when I sewed it together. A little blood is normal."

Bringing their first encounter back up might have tipped the mood again but Prince Loki's smirk tells her that he understood her correctly.

"Maybe the butchers should make you their apprentice instead. If you are so fond of blood, I mean."

She is surprised at the casual tone their conversation is suddenly taking. From blackmail to teasing in only a few moments.

Two can play that game, she thinks. This time, she holds his gaze in challenge and pulls on the second thread more decidedly, just to pay him back for that comment. He almost jumps as the thread is torn from his arm and his lips form a wordless complaint. The smile she flashes him is more than triumphant.

"Definitely better off with the butchers." he mockingly groans.

Darcy grins and concentrates on finishing her treatment in silence, which Prince Loki doesn't interrupt. The last threads removed and the scab dabbed with salve, their time together is drawing to a close.

Darcy places her tools back into the bag that she took it from and awkwardly smoothes her dress as she and her patient rise from their seats.

His wound would not have needed specifically her treatment now and it certainly will not need her again. For some reason, this thought makes her sadder than she would have thought.

"This should be fully healed in a few days. I will leave my pot of ointment here. Moisturise the wound on a regular basis, that will prevent it from scarring and will soften the skin."

Loki nods as if Darcy had just made a thoughtful and deep statement, not a professional advice on wound treatment. His eyes are still focused on her.

She shuffles her feet, uneasy under his scrutiny. "Well then, Your Highness,.."

"Loki." he interrupts softly.

Darcy lets out an unconvinced scoff. "I don't think that this is an appropriate way to address you." As casual as this conversation has gone, there are limits even to her cheek.

He gives her an amused smile. "I think propriety has been abandoned a couple of minutes ago, Healer Lewis."

On impulse, she stretches out her hand. "Darcy, then."

Loki gives her a wide smile and takes her hand in his. Their touch, now so much more than before just between patient and healer, sends little jolts through Darcy that go straight into a strong pounding in her heart. So much for propriety, Darcy thinks.

Her hand is still in his. For a moment, thoughts cross through his eyes and he apparently comes to a decision.

"Tell me, have you ever been to the royal gardens?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no trained medical personal and have no idea whether that is how you treat a wound, so please excuse if I have messed this up!
> 
> If I had more time and could turn this into a much larger story, then I would love to build a whole world on this entire healer business. Is there such a thing as antiseptic? How long do they train? Is Asgardian biology like that on Earth? How are their working hours? Do apprentices have to go to school, too? So many things to consider and I hope, I at least made it sound a bit coherent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to everyone who commented and kudos'd and read, it has been such a fun ride so far!

"You seem nervous." Loki observes.

The sun is already setting over the lush greenery of the royal gardens. In the last dying moments of the day, two people among many others are talking a walk, side by side, following the winding paths of gravel alongside meticulously managed patches of flowers and trees much older than even both their last living relative might remember.

Darcy has to stifle the laughter that bubbles in her throat. "Of course I am nervous! I am strolling through the royal gardens on my day off with none other than one of the princes of Asgard."

Loki raises his brows and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "So? Many people stroll through the gardens." His face is a mask of false innocence and mirth. Somehow Darcy thinks he knows exactly why she is nervous. And he is most definitely aware of the supposed impropriety of the situation.

Now she cannot contain her laughter. "You do realize that you are sticking out like a sore thumb, right?"

Maybe she is both paranoid and hyper aware, but even in his regular clothing of simple tunic and pants, everyone knows who he is. Everyone knows the royal family, just as Darcy did before she met him. And now he is taking an evening walk with her in the fields of flowers and trees that surround the palace. She might as well carry a target on her back.

He takes a step sideward to draw closer to her. The heat of his body radiates into her bare arms in the cool autumn air. The sun is now less potent that half an hour ago and Darcy has to suppress the impulse to lean closer into him. She doesn't think it has anything to do with warmth.

Darcy uses the opportunity to let her eyes wander and feast on the luscious greenery around her. "You might not be accompanied by any Einherjar or wear the clothes that you usually wear around court, but believe me, people will know you anywhere." With a wicked smile and abandoning all pretence, she turn to face him again as they are turning a corner. "And now they see you on a walk with a maiden and they are all aware of your reputation with the ladies."

"Oh, are they?" Loki gives a doubtful laugh. It is moments like these when a shadow of arrogance distorts his features that she remembers she is talking to someone from a whole other class. Or maybe he is just ashamed.

"You know, I may not be part of the court, but gossip trickles down to us poor plebs, too." It is now her turn to make him avert his gaze. "They say that you are no stranger to the pleasures of the court. That you can be quite the charmer with women and just as much of a heartbreaker like your brother. That both of you have been involved with women of the court before and that not all of those liaisons ended nicely."

He stares right ahead, his mouth a thin line and for a moment she is afraid that she has finally overstepped the boundaries that she has pushed from the very beginning. She can detect the anger in his face but some part of her is sure that there is embarrassment, too.

And yet his silence twists something in her chest that makes her miss his beautiful smile and the easy flow of their conversation from before. She doesn't want to scold him for whatever life he might live. It is not her place to judge, after all. But now he looks somber and that is not how she imagined and hoped this afternoon would end. Has she been too cruel to bring up the gossip of the court?

The silence is too tense for her to bear any longer. She tries her best to inject her words with humour. "And now here I am, a poor penniless healer in the claws of a man with dubious intent."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees his mood lighten again and the pretty crinkles around his eyes that she has noticed always accompany his smile reappear. The knot that had tied in her chest loosens. He looks at her again, now with no shame left in his face.

She throws her face into her hands in a pretend shame and gives a fake sob. His laughter fills her ears. "Oh how the people will talk and stare! What is an innocent girl to do?"

Loki's grin is positively wicked now. "You, dear Darcy, are _far_ from innocent."

If you only knew, Darcy thinks and gives his arm a little swat. The heat that is left in her hand where she touched his arm accompanies her for the remainder of their evening together. 

* * *

 

The night is dark when they arrive back at the doors to the palace where their paths inevitably have to lead in different directions.

Loki turns to face her as she halts at the forking stairs that lead deeper into the different sections of the castle.

"Thank you for agreeing to this, Darcy." His voice is as soft as the light around them.

"And thank you for eternally ruining my reputation." She quips, the corner of her mouth turned up in a cheeky smile.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest. "You will never let that go, am I right?"

Darcy grins amicably. "Not if it so easy to tease you with it."

"I see." For a moment, they are both silent. The forking of the stairs suddenly feels way too metaphorical for Darcy. She had fun, way too much fun today and if she were honest with herself, she knew what she would want now. She cannot have misunderstood his intentions. A walk in the park at dusk, just the two without any company is not just a walk. The opportunity is right there for her to seize it. But where should all of this lead? What if he says no? What if he says _yes_?

"Darcy?" His voice tears her from her thoughts. Her head snaps up in return just as he continues. "I would like to see you again."

Seven simple words and he says what has hung on her lips the entire time. The tight coil of fear that had squeezed her heart at the thought of rejection eases. She nods in response, the corners of her mouth gently curled.

His answering smile is as wide as it can be.

As plans are forming in her head, she realizes she will have to make a request. "We cannot meet here again," she starts and the words are already stuck in her throat, trying to find their way through the distractingly loud beating of her heart. "I meant what I said earlier. I mean," she hastens to explain as doubt cast across his face "about you being recognized. I just think I'd feel more comfortable if it was just us two."

The smirk and raised eyebrow he gives her are not hard to interpret. Darcy gives him an exasperated shove. "Keep that expression to yourself, you villainous man."

She bites her lip as she contemplates and Loki leans against the banister, his arms crossed in thought.

She can see the difficulty this puts them in. "We cannot meet in each other's chambers." she says with emphasis before he can get any stupid ideas.

He gives a nod and a quick laugh. "Yes, otherwise that might lead to strange questions."

For a moment, both of them are silent, thinking. Then, an idea strikes her. It might be a tiny bit unorthodox but also worth a try. "At least once per week, sometimes once in two weeks, Eir makes me stay late to clean and tidy and do all sorts of stuff. I am always alone during those evenings, most days for several hours into the night."

Loki cocks his head. "What about the patients? Won't they be around, too?"

Darcy shakes her head. "No, at night the patients that need to stay longer are accommodated in the rooms reserved  for such occasions, those with proper beds and bathrooms in the back. Those nights, I work in the antechamber and the supply room up front, where we usually receive incoming patients but only provide first treatment. And we have very few cases that need to stay more than one night."

Loki takes a moment to massage his neck. "I have to admit that I cannot think of anything better for now." But his tone still shows that the idea makes him uncomfortable.

"There is no harm in trying." Darcy argues. "My next shift, coincidentally, is this week." Her word are ripe with offer and she hopes he takes the bite.

Loki's eyes meet hers and she knows she has won. "Fine, we will give it a try." 

* * *

 

A try turns into another one and soon into a routine. Eir takes Darcy's willingness to stay longer as a sign of motivation and it allows Darcy a more reliable schedule to communicate to Loki.

Loki's fears prove, just as she had hoped, to be completely unfounded. As Darcy had predicted, most patients are quickly released and the few who are in need of an overnight stay are usually too sick to be awake.

While he is nervous during the first few times he steals himself into the healing rooms at night, he soon grows a lot more relaxed. It is during these nightly hours together that they are beginning to get to know each other.

She tries to coax as much information out of him as she can get but he proves himself truly a master of diversion. He seems happier to just listen to her. He asks her a lot. Like, a lot. How has she come to be a healer? How long has she been in training? Does she enjoy her work? Do open wounds and blood and gore not make her squeamish? What was the strangest case she ever witnessed?

One day, when she is has been assigned cleaning duty, he gently prods her for her family again. "What happened with your parents?"

She wrings the sponge in her hands and exhales deeply. "The usual story of boy meets girl, I guess, just a different ending." When she finds his gaze she can tell that this time, he will not be so easily dealt with.

Darcy takes a deep breath and goes back to scrubbing the stretcher that she has started to work on. The handiwork is a welcome means to let off steam as she recounts: "Aesir meets Midgardian on Midgard, Midgardian falls for Aesir, Aesir falls for the thrill of an interdimensional affair." Her words are laced with bitterness. She swallows. "Aesir becomes pregnant, Midgardian loves Aesir but Aesir doesn't love Midgardian, Aesir wants no strings attached and leaves for Asgard and bears child."

A moment of silence hangs between them. Loki frowns and empathy softens his face. "Did you ever meet him?"

He doesn't need to clarify who is meant by _him_. "Once, a long time ago. I had begged my mother so often that she finally caved and let me meet him. He was already very old but I am glad I did. He was a good man with a good heart." She hopes that the past tense tells Loki how the story ended. Aesir and Midgardian life spans are not compatible. She is still forcibly staring at the stretcher she has by now more than thoroughly cleaned. But if she looks up she might crack. It has been a long time since she talked about her family in such detail.

"And he passed that on to his daughter."

Darcy cannot help but let the smile spread across her face. "That and the loose mouth." she adds, a lopsided smile on her face, and allows herself to look at Loki, her emotions back in check.

"That he did." he grins. He contemplates for a second, studying her face. "Why did you choose his name?"

"Honestly? To annoy my mother. To give her the constant reminder that there is another half to me even though she has done her best to erase it. Sometimes I regret it because it always gets me questions that I would rather avoid..."

Loki raises his eyebrows. "Oh yes, I remember your delightful and charming reaction."

A guilty grin is all she can answer to that as she continues: "...but I also could not bear to change it. She might have forgotten him but I won't."

With a clean rag, she sponges the remaining moisture off the stretcher.

"I take it that the relationship with your mother is not the best?"

Darcy huffs, her eyes largen at the understatement that that is. "I don't really talk to her anymore. I feel like having me was something she did because it just came to be that way. She is my mother simply because she happened to be." Darcy shrugs. "I don't know how to explain, it is just weird."

"You only had some kind of relationship because you were living together and just had to? And without that, you might as well be strangers because you share so little."

She looks at him, his words perfectly hitting home. There is a moment of silent understanding between them. Takes one to know one, she thinks, and judging by the little bits he has shared with her about his mother, he sure as hell isn't taking about her.

She nods, empathy flooding her. "Yes, exactly."

"It must have changed a lot for you then, to know your father's side of yours." Loki offers, his eyes kind and inquisitive.

Darcy thinks for a moment, then gives something between a headshake and a shrug. "In a way yes and in another way not at all. I always knew who I was but meeting him only solidified that." She stops in her movements and looks at Loki. "Does that make any sense?"

All he answers is a nod but she can tell that he understands. 

* * *

 

"You know magic, right?"

The question has been waiting inside her for so many moons and she finally finds the courage to ask it. Loki is known for his special talent and she is dying to see it in action.

Tonight, he has made himself comfortable on a stool pushed against the wall, his longs legs lazily crossed at the ankles and stretched out before him, arms crossed behind his head, while she is sorting through the supplies, cataloguing what might need to be replaced.

At the mentioning of magic he moves a few inches higher and rights himself in his seat. She knows him well enough by now to see the discomfort in his bearing.

She gives him time to response. She has learnt that he sometimes needs time to reply. And that pestering can quickly result in a sullen and taciturn Loki who is absolutely no fun to be around.

"Yes, my mother shared her gifts with me." He watches her reaction carefully.

Darcy gathers a few holey strings of cotton and throws them into the trash bin at her feet. "Then why have I never seen you use it?"

"Magic is frowned upon on Asgard." He is still watching her, his tone even and detached.

Darcy rolls her eyes and moves a few bottles of tonic into their correct order. "So is a Midgardian heritage." she reminds him.

Loki gives a humourless laugh and crosses his arms before his chest. "That is a flawed comparison. A Midgardian ancestry is simply uncommon. Magic is common but always flouted. Magic outside of fight is considered a weak study. In fight, magic is seen as a coward's choice. Why use tricks and spells when you can use a sword?"

Darcy frowns. "Isn't that obvious? A sword can be snatched by your opponent and used against you. Magic is rooted in you, is it not? That can never be stolen."

Loki gives her an appraising look. "You are far smarter than I sometimes give you credit for."

Darcy glares at him with indignation. She uses the blunt end of a pair of tongs to poke him between the ribs. "Damn right!"

Loki scoots to the far end of his stool and raises his hand in defence, laughing. "Be careful, or those might turn against you!" he teases.

She raises her eyebrows scathingly in response.

Loki's answering grin is way too wicked for her liking. The tongs in her hand begin to feel warm in her hand, far warmer than her own body heat should make them feel. A sudden tug at them has her gasp and she lets go of them in alarm. But instead of dropping to the floor, they float in the air and land gracefully on the counter, hopping like a little bunny on two pointy feet towards the open drawer Darcy just took them from.

Her mouth drops open at the spectacle, her eyes following the suddenly animate object on its way.

The tongs give the drawer a little knock and a gleaming pair of scissors spring from it, too, dancing on their pointy ends like a spindly dancer. In the light of the candles, their bladed arms shine like knives. Both utensils start to make their way towards Darcy, pincing menacingly, now with force in their steps, it that is what you can call their movement.

Open-mouthed, Darcy turns her head towards Loki. He has resumed his laid-back position, arms crossed behind his head, his face pure innocence as he watches her reaction.

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Now it is Darcy to raise her hands in defeat with a laugh on her lips. "A weapon can turn on you, yes, yes, alright!"

The tools show no inclination of stopping. "Enough!" She shouts at the metal objects and they quiver and halt, finally dropping like the non-sentient beings they ought to be.

Darcy releases a breath and lowers her hands. By her side, Loki is grinning in triumph.

She shakes her head, exasperated but smiling. "Show-off." she mutters and retrieves a couple of multi-facetted vessels used for mixing potions from a higher shelve in order to clean them.

Loki pulls in his legs and leans onto his knees, his gaze radiant with mischief. Darcy catches him staring at the flasks in her hand. "Oh, what now?" she says with a half-grinning, half-anxious face. "Will you knock those over my head?"

Loki rises from his seat and stands next to her. The grin from before has transformed into a gentle smile. He takes the vessels out of Darcy's hands and holds them in his open hands. Like leaves in the wind, they start to float elegantly from his palms towards the nearest candles, engulfing them with their crystalline body.

At once, the light from the flames is broken by the many facets of the glass and the supply chamber is lit by dozens and dozens of tiny sparkling points. Like stars, they dance around on the shelves and drawers, some specks smaller, some larger, all of them spread around evenly. The vessels are not perfectly still but quiver slightly and the moving lights make it seem like the wood itself is a living breathing thing around them.

Darcy cannot help but gasp. It is stunning, like the ceiling has split open and allowed the night sky to cover every surface. Loki's hands fold around her elbows and he pulls her closer to him. Her neck is still craned to catch every bit of the illusion but his sudden proximity shifts her focus on him.

By now, Loki's hands have settled on her waist and hers have found their place on his chest. Both of them are covered in the little specks of light, too, and on his pale even skin, it looks like pure luminosity that is woven into his skin. She has never seen anything as beautiful as him right now.

In his relaxed face, she sees her admiration mirrored. With gentle hands, he pulls her closer into his personal space that is suddenly not so personal anymore. His hair moves softly with his movements and Darcy fights the urge to press her face into it.

Loki's  free hand moves to embrace her neck and with soft tug, he pulls her face forward to give her a kiss that she is sure she has waited her entire life for.

His lips feel plump and warm and fit perfectly over hers. His personal fragrance is intoxicating and she presses her lips to his, stronger now, hoping that he might take the hint. And boy, does he take it.

He opens his mouth and Darcy rushes to do the same. His free hand is searching its way through the spaces between the buttons on the back of her dress. His fingertips meet the raised hairs on her back and the goose bumps that erupt as he licks into her mouth.

Her hands clasp around his shoulders first, then scoot further up to nestle into his hair. Her fingernails give an experimental scratch down his scalp and his answering shiver makes her repeat her action, just to hear him groan.

In dire need of air, Darcy pulls back from him and deeply inhales, the air now mixed with the scent of Loki. His eyes are hooded and her lips are probably as red as his.

"Darcy,..." he sighs against her lips and she is truly lost.

She is in such deep trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so so much fun to write and I hope it shows! Fair warning: It will take me a bit longer than a week to post the next chapter, I will be away for work for the next week for work and the next chapter is not yet done. But I hope I will be able to make it worth your while!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! Please forgive the delay, I had a really hard time writing this chapter because I am not used to writing smut and I rewrote this probably five times. But, in other news: The next chapter is as good as done and will definitely be up next week.

Darcy collides with the headboard as she throws her head back and moans, anything to let off steam. Down her body, buried in between her legs and currently very busy, is Loki, his hands holding her hips gently in place, his dark hair fanned around her lower stomach area. And it doesn't hurt that he is naked, too.

Pleasure is coursing through her veins, tingling in the tips of her breast, beating in her chest and radiating into the very edges of her every fibre of her. If he doesn't speed up soon, she might combust.

One hand comes up for her to bite into as she stifles another loud moan. She knows what he wants her to say.

"Please..." she keens, a mere whisper on her lips.

She can actually feel him grin against her. "Come again?" His voice is muffled against her flesh and the little friction his lips cause against her feel delicious.

"Please!" she murmurs, every muscle in her body ready for her to finally finish.

Loki gives her one excruciatingly slow lick, the tip of his tongue careful to flick that little button that makes her head spin and she shudders in response, her legs twitching with pent up want. She makes a mental note to pay him back in kind _very_ soon.

"Please!" she finally begs, submission in her voice. Kinky bastard.

He hums happily as she finally gives in and rewards her for her obligingness with another finger to curl inside her as his tongue works its own kind of magic.

All the tension that has built in her body eases in one blissful wave and the pleasure is intense enough that she feels like floating. Every sensation other than Loki and his hands and tongue and skin pressed against hers fade into nothingness.

Her eyes are closed from the overwhelming feeling as she sinks blissfully sated into the pillow, her hair stuck to her sweaty neck and her body boneless with content.

She feels Loki gently move from between her legs to rest his warm head on her stomach, his hands snaking around her lower back, caressing the soft skin there. His breath comes and goes in waves across her skin and it gives her little shivers of affection. She could lie like this forever.

"I have got something for you." He smiles, his chin pillowed on her soft stomach as he looks up at her.

Darcy gives a satisfied sigh. "I think you just gave it to me." she deadpans, her eyes finally opening.

Loki rolls his eyes and gets up from the warmth of his bed, wandering in all his naked glory towards his desk. A draw is pulled open and whatever he is retrieving is hid behind his back as he returns to take a seat opposite her, a huge grin on his face.

Darcy leans over to grab her earlier discarded shirt from the floor and pulls it over her head, ignoring Loki's disapproving huff. She gives her hair a quick comb through with her fingers and then turns to face him.

"So?" she asks, trying to hide the curiosity.

From behind his back, Loki produces a gorgeous green pouch of soft leather and hands it to her.

Darcy raises her left eyebrow. "A piece of leather! Oh Loki, it is beautiful!" She grins.

He throws his head back in and sighs audibly. "Unwrap it."

Darcy takes the pouch from his hand and immediately feels the weight hiding in between the folds of leather. Underneath two layers of material lies a dagger, a beautifully crafted handle with intricate golden details that leads into a pointed and shiny blade. In the darkness of the room, the blade throws off the light from the candles. It feels hefty and priceless. It is simply stunning.

Darcy turns the blade in her hands and feels the strong handle. "I can't accept that."

Loki cocks his head. "Don't you like it?"

Darcy gives an exasperated laugh. "Are you serious? It is amazing!"

Now he grins, satisfied with his own taste. "You mentioned how your old one turned dull and how you needed a new one for your work."

With a gentle press of the point to her index finger, Darcy finds the blade deadly sharp. "A simple knife would have been enough." she whispers, ashamed at liking this present too much to want to let it go.

Loki's fingers trace her knee under the blanket. "It is both for your work and a means of protection, if you choose to use it that way. It is one of my old ones, actually. I had it sharpened and replaced the handle for a new one, so no-one will be able to know where you got it from, if that is what might worry you. There is a halter in there too, so you can wear it strapped around your leg, under your skirts and no-one would be the wiser." He gives her a knowing smile and Darcy feels her cheeks blush.

"I wanted you to have something of mine with you. " There is warmth in his voice and his fingers are still tracing her knee.

Darcy places the dagger softly back into its pouch and deposits it on the heap of clothes next to his bed. Then she reaches over and pulls Loki into a soft kiss. "Thank you." she whispers against his lips, pulling him down to cover her again. His naked skin on hers, added to the weighty feel of him atop her, gives her a sense of security and happiness that she could not have imagined only months ago.

Her hands scoot down his torso, gently scratching his pectorals down to run her fingers through that glorious trail of dark coarse hair that leads down to his already semi-hardened length.

As her hand closes around him and she gives him and deliberate tug and twist, she whispers in his ear: "Your turn." 

* * *

 

The music from her night out still in her veins, Darcy takes a little jump down the final steps of stairs towards her quarters. The night is no longer young but she has definitely made good use out of it.

In the darkness by her door, someone is already waiting for her. Someone tall and lean and the sight of Loki by her door sets her heart into motion.

“Hello there!” she smiles dazedly and gives him a long kiss.

He grins as he pulls back and his fingers trace the seam on the midsection of her dress. "Where were you?"

She does a little hop on the spot, her long skirt swishing along. "Dancing. With Ana. Sometimes, when we are either too tired or not tired enough, she makes us go into town for mead and music. Do you know the little tavern down the road by the butchers? They play music all night long with strings and bass and drums and everyone in there is going crazy with the music. And Ana is always dragging me along and then we dance and dance and dance!"

Loki smirks, clearly amused. "And drink?"

A blush blooms in her cheeks. Her rambling might have given away just how much mead she drank. "Yes, we drink, too! But just a little. I need to go to work tomorrow, remember? And we usually dance it off, anyway. You should try it, too. It is so much fun!"

All that he gives her in reply is an entertained smile and her embarrassment at her inebriated state only gets worse.

"What did you do tonight?" she asks, trying to distract him. "I thought you were busy."

He nods. "I was. I spent the night studying at the library but I couldn't concentrate and I thought, I could come and see you."

He looks deadbeat and like he is in dire need of a good night’s sleep. He pulls her closer, one hand snaking around her waist, the other one caressing her neck as he buries his face against it.

With a liquid sigh, Darcy returns his embrace, the warmth from his body adding to the heat that the alcohol is sending through her body. "Did you wait long?"

He shakes his head against her neck, inhaling deeply. Against her nose, the tips of his dark hair are tickling her skin and she has to fight a smile. He must be tired from the long meeting but she can feel his pulse quick and strong under her fingertips, her heart beating against her ribs in answer.

Darcy extricates herself from his tight grasp and takes his face into her hands, her thumbs gently massaging his temples.

"Why do you always wear your hair up?" he asks, one of his hands playing with the strands that have fallen from her bun towards her neck, curled with the heat and humidity of the hot pub.

"I really don't, actually. But I have to at work or otherwise it would get in the way and when I'm dancing, it's too hot to wear it down."

His eyes trace the sheen of sweat on her collarbone and around her neck and his hands follow, fingertips caressing her neck and sending shivers down her skin. The tingling sensation radiates through her neck and shoulders and causes her nipples to harden.

Judging by the way his eyes flicker down to her breasts, he notices.

Darcy reaches for his hand on her skin and with the other opens the door to her room behind her back, pulling Loki with her into the little chamber. She suddenly feels very sober.

He stumbles in after her, guided by her hand in his, and shuts the door behind him. In the darkness of only the moonlight, his skin on hers feels heightened and overly sensitive.

For a moment she wonders whether she should light the candle by her bedside but his hands gently tugging at the buttons down her front distract her from that thought.

Suddenly developing a mind of their own, her own hands reach around his outstretched arms and disappear under his loose tunic, her nails searching their usual way up and down his stomach, as she waits for his little hisses in return.

He abandons opening her dress in favour of discarding his own shirt and now topless continues his work on her dress. Darcy drops her arms to her side, waiting for him to finish and dying to feel her skin against his. When the last button is divested off its hole, his fingers gently push the fabric off her shoulders, the short-sleeved dress gliding down her arms to pool at her feet.

At her bare breasts underneath, Loki draws in a hungry breath and if it weren't for the dark, Darcy is sure she could see the delight shining in his eyes. The thought of the same naked want that she feels mirrored in his eyes makes her dizzy with lust.

Loki wastes no time and lets his fingers circle her already pert nipples and Darcy uses his distraction to start on the drawstrings of his pants where is erection is already fighting for space.

His fingers are very clever in their movements and Darcy drops her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes and reaching inside his opened pants. The feeling of the soft skin stretched over the engorged member makes her weak in the knees and for a wild moment, she wants to just drop to her knees, put her mouth to good use and make him sob her name into the night.

With impatience and fingers shaking with need, she lets go of him and tugs his pants down his perfect butt with one hand, while the other guides his hand towards her underwear. She feels him hesitate at the clothed border and she almost wants to giggle.

All they did before today and he never had to ask her to allow him to undress her. But apparently he feels the weight of what is about to happen, too, and she silently nudges his waiting hand with her still clothed hip, encouraging him to move, because if he doesn’t, she might combust with pent up need.

She is naked faster than she would have thought and instead of the bed, she finds herself sitting wide-legged on her chest of drawers, Loki between her spread legs. His lips and teeth are tending to her neck and cleavage while his talented fingers are back between her legs, feeling for the wetness that has pooled there, probing with shallow dips in and out.

As good as his fingers feel and as much as she enjoys just feeling skin on skin, everything in her screams for more. She claws at his back, desperate for him to take the hint.

Her feet and legs move around his hips and she pulls him closer still, his erection now nudging against where his fingers are currently still busy.

Silently, taught like a bow and shivering with excitement, Darcy presses her lips against his ear: "Please!"

One word is all he needs to finally, after what feels like ages when it has only been months, use his hands to push her knees further apart and to sink into her with one smooth flex of his hips.

They both moan, Darcy's keen and pitched, Loki's guttural. He takes a delicious long second just to stay inside her, both revelling in the pressure and warmth and stretch.

His left hand lets go of her knee and snakes itself into the loose bun of her hair. With one deft flick, he removes the pins that held her long waves into place and they cascade down her already heated neck.

Loki's head finds its place at the side of her neck from before again and, buried in her fragrant hair, he starts to let his hips settle into a strong rhythm of in and out, his other hand grabbing her hip.

A voiceless moan escapes from Darcy's lips. The wood under her, the stone at her back and Loki's scent and warmth surrounding her overwhelm her senses and she closes her eyes to the already dark room, focussing only on what she can feel.

“Please,…” she keens again, pressing her cheek against the top of his head, her mouth open to let the moans of pleasure escape.

With every stroke of Loki's, the trembling in her thighs intensifies and a knot ties in her lower abdomen that feels tighter and tighter by the minute. In her arms, Loki is panting hard, his breaths laced with soft sobs and moans of pleasure, depending on how fast he goes.

At an encouraging press of her feet against his lower back, he picks up the pace and hooks his hand under her right knee to lift it up. The change in angle hits a special spot for Darcy and with that, the knot in her abdomen is untied in sweet release as she comes. It radiates and sparks in between her legs, in the tips of her breast and right into her fingertips.

“Yes, yes!” His voice is husky with desire and barely conceals his own impatience. Loki’s strokes become erratic, uncontrolled and bordering on hard and painful. Darcy snakes her arms around his shoulders, drawing him tighter, waiting for him to finish and for her to _feel_ it.

He comes with a broken sob and heavy panting into her neck and against her own chest, she can feel his heart give an excited stutter. The tension in his shoulders slacks under her hands on him and her almost collapses against her, his weight on her.

Waiting for him to come down from his high, Darcy presses little pecks against his temple, tired and satisfied and happier than she could have imagined.

Loki’s breath has evened out and he extricates himself from their tangled limbs, a loose smile on his face. His lips find hers in an almost chaste and tender kiss. As he draws back, she can see the dark smudges around his eyes. He looks completely exhausted.

Darcy smoothes over his mussed hair. “Will you stay here tonight?” The thought of him putting on all his clothes again and leaving now to sleep alone in his own bed breaks her heart.

He cocks his head. “I will have to leave very early. Before dawn.” he warns and takes a look at her tiny bed. “And it might be a bit crowded with both of us sleeping here.”

Darcy shakes her head. “Don’t care. Don’t mind.”

His face softens at her pleading tone and he nods. “Then I’ll stay.”

They don’t bother with cleaning up the mess of clothes. On her tiny mattress, under her small blanket, they are cramped together, Darcy facing the wall while Loki is moulding himself around her back as tightly as she will let him.

When she wakes up in the morning for work, he is already gone, just as he had told her. Her back is sore from the cramped position she slept in and probably also from their other nightly activities. But the smell of him on her pillow and the marks of him on her body are more than enough to make up for it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! The next chapter will be set during the original Thor movie!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am alive!!
> 
> I am so so sorry for the delay. I wish I could promise it will not happen again but who knows. What I can say however is that the next chapter is as good as done and will hopefully be up by Monday! Thank you for your patience and I hope it was worth your wait!

If the arms of the clock moved any slower, they'd move backwards. Darcy's day had already been mind-numbingly boring with little to do and less to occupy herself with in between.

But Loki has promised to pick her up tonight and the thought of an entire evening with him alone would get her through any boring day.

He is already quite late when she finally hears the handle of the door move behind her back and a grin steals itself on her face.

"Finally! Took you damn long enough..." she starts but freezes mid-sentence as the door swings open and reveals not the royal she had expected.

A tall, handsome woman has entered the room and is closing the door behind her. Her long robes are of finest material in warm tones of copper and maroon, her reddish hair elegantly done up in an intricate braided bun. Her eyes are as kind as her smile and they speak of wisdom and serenity.

It is Queen Frigga.

Darcy is rooted to the spot, the heavy box in her hands momentarily forgotten. Instinct kicks in a second to late and she sets the item in her hand by side. With shaky legs, she drops to her knee in a hasty curtsy.

"Your Highness." she says demurely, her head bowed.

Darcy can tell that the Queen is smiling when she speaks: "Please rise dear girl, I did not mean to intrude."

Darcy rises and her hands move to clasp each other in front of her stomach, desperate for anything to hold on to in her nervousness. "No, no! Of course not. It is just... I was expecting someone to visit." _Not just someone. Your son, to be precise_. "Please forgive my reaction. Are you here to speak to the Lady Eir?"

"Oh no, that won't be necessary. See, clumsy me, I cut myself on my sewing scissors," she raises her right hand which is wrapped up in a piece of cloth, "and I think it might need examination. It is surely just a tiny wound but I would certainly feel better if a trained healer had a look at it."

So many aspects of her sentences make no sense that Darcy starts to suspect foul play. Firstly, a cut with a scissor that required a healer would have to be deep enough to produce massive flow of blood, yet Darcy can see no spots in the string of linen that is wrapped around Queen Frigga's hand. Secondly, Darcy is no trained healer at all, as her apprentice's clothes would tell. Thirdly, and most importantly, Queen Frigga is a seasoned magician. Healing, for her, should not require any other help from outside.

She swallows past the lump of worry in her throat and motions the woman opposite her towards a comfortable chair. With a gracious smile, Frigga takes her seat and starts to unwrap her hand.

Her hands are not as steady as Darcy would have liked them to be as she takes the Queen's hand and examines the wound.

Calling this a wound is laughable. It is a tiny cut, probably by a blade of the scissors, as the Queen had said. Cleaning it won't hurt, but this needs a light bandage and nothing more. It will be healed and gone in a matter of days.

The puzzlement inside Darcy grows even further. The feeling that Frigga is not here by coincidence solidifies. Could she have found out about where her son is spending all his free time? What if she disapproves? Panic pools inside Darcy's stomach like ice.

She hides it behind a mask of professionalism. "It is, as you have said, a tiny wound. I will clean and bandage it, but you needn't worry about it. It is absolutely harmless."

Frigga answers Darcy's assessment with another smile. "I am relieved, then."

Darcy manages to turn the corners of her mouth up in a weak imitation of a smile and reaches for her utensils. On the one hand, she would love to just wrap a piece of cloth around her patient's hand and send her off before she can see for herself who Darcy has been waiting for. On the other hand, she does not dare to do anything but a perfect job on the Queen herself.

With gentle hands, Darcy starts cleaning the tiny cut, making sure not to apply too much pressure.

The Queen is the first to speak again. "What is your name, if I may ask?"

"Darcy Lewis, Your Highness."

From the corner of her eyes, Darcy sees her patient making the connection of her name. "A Midgardian name, how wonderful. It is good to see that our people stay less within the confined borders of their native realm and appreciate that there are worlds outside of Asgard, too."

Her words are one of the kindest reactions Darcy ever had to her name and ancestry, so she doesn't have the heart to tell her that this story has no pretty ending. Still, it astounds her that Frigga would immediately recognize her name as Midgardian.

"Not many would think so." Darcy replies, her eyes glued to the tip of the spatula that dispenses the tiniest amount of salve to the wound.

"No, I am sure many won't and that you had many less pleasant reactions to it."

Darcy shakes her head. "No, not really. But whenever I do get a nasty comment, I just show them that if they think that they can make me feel shame for my roots, they've definitely got the wrong person. It is them who should be ashamed."

Frigga nods. "I could not agree more."

Their shared silence is not uncomfortable and Darcy's unease starts to dissolve. This feels less like an interrogation that she had feared. And thankfully, Loki is still taking his sweet time.

Again, Queen Frigga breaks the silence. "Lewis, now I remember. You were one of the healers who tended to my sons when they returned from battle."

Here we go, Darcy thinks. "It was nothing. I just did my job."

As she reaches for the gauze to wrap the Queen's finger, she forces herself to look up. If she is to be under scrutiny, then she may at least do it with her head held high.

Frigga's face shows no rejection or deceit. On the contrary, there is something like approval in her eyes. "Not many would be so careful. You even took the time to look after my youngest son's arm again! I remember how he specifically asked for you." The wide smile is back on Frigga's face, now it looks almost conspiratorial. "He must have taken a liking to you."

Damn that blush that is creeping into Darcy's cheeks. If the Queen only knew.

"But still, I thank you for the care you took. It is always good to know that one's loved ones are in good hands."

Or maybe she already knows? Darcy's fingers have stopped their work and the unspoken question hangs between the two women. Frigga holds her gaze, not in challenge nor in anticipation.

A noise distracts her from the silent moment. Fast steps can be heard in the hallway and by the rush of feet, Darcy is pretty sure she can tell who is approaching from outside.

Loki wastes no time to knock or to check quietly whether Darcy is alone. The door flies open and only Loki's hand that is clenched around the knob that keeps it from banging into the wall.

His chest is heaving with heavy breath and Darcy can almost picture how he has rushed down the stairs and through the bowels of the castle in a flurry of dark hair and worry.

"Mother." His eyes flash with panic and dart from Darcy to his mother and back. As absurd as this scene is turning out to be, Darcy thoroughly enjoys seeing Loki losing his calm for once.

Frigga either does not notice the irritated look on her son's face or has decided to ignore it. "Oh, Loki, how good to see you!"

His hand has slowly stopped clenching the knob and Loki moves to cross his arms. "I was looking for you. You sent a servant to ask me to come to your chamber immediately, remember? You said it was urgent."

The Queen's right hand moves towards her heart in a gesture of shock. "I did? How odd, I completely forgot." Frigga's face is pure innocence and suddenly, Darcy knows exactly where Loki learned to lie without blushing. His mother is really starting to grow on her. Behind the queen's back, she flashes Loki a wide grin and raises her eyebrows in amazement and his mother's cheek.

Loki stares in disbelief at his mother. "Apparently. And you also forgot to leave me a note and tell me where you went. But there was a servant, however, who told me you had gone to the healing ward."

Frigga's innocent smile is still in place as she rises from the chair. "Well, good that you found me, then." She turns to Darcy who has witnessed this strange dance between mother and son with growing amusement.

"I thank you very much, Healer Lewis, for staying longer and tending to my aches. It was a pleasure to meet such a confident, resourceful young lady such as you. I am sure our paths will cross again. I wish you a pleasant evening with your friend."

Darcy can only answer with an impressed grin and a half-hearted bow.

The Queen moves gracefully past her son, gently giving his shoulder a squeeze, and reaches for the still opened door.

Loki's face is still full of irritation as he turns to face Frigga. "Mother?"

Frigga halts her steps and turns towards her youngest. "Yes, dear?" she asks, her eyebrows arched with friendly inquiry.

"You didn't say what you wanted to see me for."

A smile graces the Queen's features and her hands make a swatting movement as if to wipe away the question. "Oh, nothing important. The matter has already been resolved."

With that final comment, she closes the door behind her and has left, humming a soft tune on her way out.

After a few seconds, Darcy cannot hold the laughter in anymore and bursts out: "What in the nine realms was that?"

Loki has by now untangled his arms and is still looking at the spot where Frigga has just disappeared. "That was my meddlesome mother nosing around."

"Yes, I did figure out soon that she was not here by accident."

With a sigh that Darcy cannot quite place he turns to face her. "No, she certainly wasn't." His eyes show worry and concern.

Darcy takes a slow step towards him, unsure of how to judge his mood. "Did you tell her about us?"

He shakes his head. "No, nothing at all!"

"Do you mind? I mean, that I talked to her."

"No, of course not! As long as she didn't pester you." He seems to thaw and his hands reach out to pull her closer. His wrinkled brow has smoothed and he looks a lot more relaxed.

She pillows her head on his chest. Beneath her ears, his heartbeat is strong and steady.

"No, she was very nice. No pestering, but I feel like she know exactly who I really was."

She feels Loki press his cheek to the top of her head, his breath puffing into her hair. "I have no doubt that she does. There is nothing in this palace that escapes her, try as I may to hide it."

Before Darcy can comment on that, he pulls back and his hand finds hers. "Shall we? I have kept you waiting long enough."

With a nod, she follows where he leads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of an interlude than an actual plot heavy chapter but since I have a very soft spot for Frigga I just needed to include her!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the next chapter! I rewatched that coronation scene like twenty times to describe everything accurately and it made me appreciate people in set and costume design way more. So much thought must go into little details that I never noticed before when watching "Thor". 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The coronation of Prince Thor is the biggest event since that Darcy can remember.

How she wishes she could stand further at the front, among the nobles and people of the court to catch a glance at the prince who is to be crowned king but more at Loki in his perfectly tailored ceremonial attire with that ridiculous helmet that he had shown her the night before. He had made her take it into her hands and weigh it and she had almost buckled under the heavy metal in her hand. The burden of a crown, he had joked, with a sad tinge to his smile.

It feels like all of Asgard's citizens, judging by the masses and masses of people, have gathered to witness this special event. Children are poised on their parent's shoulders to catch a better look and older people are led to the front for their safety and the better to see.

Many have brought little buntings sporting the colour of one of the royal family member. Today, the bright red associated with Prince Thor reigns the hall, not only mirrored in the buntings but also in the decoration: Streams of fabric are hanging from the ceiling, stamped with his royal sigil and coloured like his own cape. The flowers by the throne are blood-red carnations and dahlias and the warmth of the sun streaming in through the larger windows only adds to the reddish tone of the entire throne room.

Next to Darcy, Ana is craning her head more than should be physically possible. In the far back of the crowd that lines the walk down to Odin's thrown, it is hard to see more than the tops of any royal heads.

Ana huffs and pouts like a petulant child. "It's not fair! Why don't we get to have a closer look? They always say that these ceremonies are supposed to make us feel more connected to the royal family but I don't feel that at all."

She sways on her tiptoes and bumps into a middle-aged lady next to them, who comments on Ana's behaviour with a dignified roll of her eyes. There is a rush that goes through the crowd like a wave of energy, accompanied by an increase in their roaring and clapping. The first members must be drawing nearer.

Darcy supports Ana by the elbow to help her hold her stance. "If I remember correctly, you were quite connected to our future King not quite too long ago." she whispers.

Her words are nearly drowned by the uproar of the crowd as the first Einherjar approach, ready in their festive gear to form a line of honour for their Highnesses.

Ana still catches her words and smirks mischievously. "Yes. And I do wish to repeat that."

The sudden gasps and the chattering of the people around them signal the arrival of the first royal family members. There is Odin, decked all in gold and silver armour, reminiscent of his days of fighting, a blood-red cape, his spear Gungnir in his right hand, and power seems to ooze from his every movement. His slow and steady steps are calm, his face, or what little is to be seen under his heavy helmet, shows no signs of nervousness or excitement. To him, this must be just another day at work, Darcy thinks. Or maybe he just never smiles.

Close behind follows his wife, Queen Frigga, her arm casually looped around - and Darcy's heart gives a happy little skit - her youngest son's arm. Loki looks dashing, there is no other word for it. The helmet is, arguably, a bit much and Darcy stands by her judgement that it looks a bit ridiculous on its own. But combined with his long, thick green cape and the ornately decorated armour, he is undeniably handsome. His mother is clothed in amber-coloured jewels up to her neck and they reflect the manifold green shades from his outfit. His face is solemn, his eyes fixated on his goal, the steps to the throne his brother will take in a few moments.

For a stupid, wild moment, Darcy sees herself there in Frigga's place, her arm around Loki's. She imagines the heavy metal under her fingertips and how her naked arm would be pressed against his for comfort and guidance. He would not look so serious but rather search her gaze from time to time, the wide smile that he so often sports around her on his face for everyone to see. She would need to wear a formal gown, too, maybe in an answering shade of green and gold to his, and it would show how they, this strong and happy couple, admired by the people, cheered on by the crowd, belonged together.

Next to her, Ana erupts in a happy little dance. "There he is! Finally! Oh look at him! Isn't he just handsome?" Ana sighs.

"Yes. Yes, he is." Darcy answers, her eyes still trailing after the object of her imagination, a bitter and sad taste in her mouth, for imagination her daydream will always be.

But Ana's hands are now practically digging into her side and Darcy turns to see what Ana is talking about. The heir to the throne has entered the great hall, joyous and buoyant as he always is. His armour is a pure silver in different hues with intricate designs and patterns, his cape like a large red wall behind him. His helmet shows little wings like those of a dove and from under it, his golden hair peaks out in wavy, soft strands. He smiles brightly, like the sun, and holds his hammer aloft in triumph.

Darcy has to admit, Ana is right: Thor is very handsome. His beard across his broad jaw, his sparkling cobalt eyes and just his bright and cheerful manner. It doesn't hurt that he is tall and muscular, too. In contrast to his brother and parents before him, he takes his time parading the crown. Being the centre of attention does not seem to bother him. He does not shy away from the stares but revels in it.

The people obviously adore him. He tosses Mjölnir up in the air and catches it, throwing his smile out into the cheering crowd, bathing in the love they are giving him. Darcy cannot help but mirror his good mood despite her gloomy daydreams.

Under the watchful eyes of the statues of their forefathers, Odin, Frigga and Loki have taken their respective places. On the right, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, Thor's closest friends and fellow fighters, have positioned themselves, too.

It is too far away for Darcy to see but judging by the stopping of a red and silver dot, Thor has arrived at the feet of his father's throne and kneels in respect. He discards his helmet and it is then that Odin rises from his throne and the crowd is silenced immediately by the clanging of Gungnir.

Odin's voice is strong and calm at the same time and it resonates over the crowd. "Thor Odinson, my heir, my firstborn. So long entrusted with the mighty hammer Mjölnir, forged in the heart of a dying star, its power has no equal, as a weapon to destroy or as a tool to build. It is a fit companion for a king."

Odin pauses for a moment, letting the meaning of his last words echo. Hundreds of citizens are waiting with baited breath.

"I have defended Asgard and lives of the innocent across the nine realms since the time of the great beginning. The day has come to pass the throne on to you."

The crowd is dead silent and the weight of what is to come presses into the already stuffed hall.

Odin squares his shoulders, now directly staring at his son at his feet. "Do you swear to guard the nine realms?"

Thor's deep voice answers: "I swear."

"And do you swear to preserve the peace?"

"I swear!" His second answer is louder, almost impatient.

"Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and to pledge yourself only to the good of the realm?"

"I swear!" Now Thor is practically shouting with fervour and demand.

"Then, on this day, I, Odin Allfather, proclaim you-"

The pause Odin makes stretches on for too long to be simply for rhetorical purposes. An uneasiness runs through the crowd and Darcy now stretches her head, too, to see what has caused the delay.

She can hear Odin saying something but it is too quiet for her to immediately catch. He bangs Gungnir on the ground and like an echo, Odin’s words are transported from person to person in the throne room until they reach her and Ana: "Frost Giants."

The two women turn to stare at each other. "Frost Giants?" Darcy repeats, fear pooling in her gut.

Ana's face shows the same shock that Darcy feels. "Another attack!" she concludes.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Darcy can spot three figures that have started to move: Odin, Thor and, to her horror, Loki, all three rushing down the throne room, headed for the doors and surely to wherever the Frost Giants are.

The thought of Loki facing a battle in nothing but his formal clothing causes her heart to start to race. "Where are they going?" she asks, the panic in her voice only poorly concealed.

Ana frowns, her eyes following the three men, too, as they leave through the large entrance door out of sight. "They will lead the counter-attack, I am sure."

Darcy swallows. "But what about the Einherjar?"

Ana is still staring after the three men. "They will fight, too. But as Odin just said, they are the protectors of this realm."

People around them have started to become restless. Some have left right away, the threat of the Frost Giants scaring them back into their homes. Others have stayed, curious as to what exactly has happened or is about to. The Einherjar that had formed the line for Thor to pass through are now guiding worried citizens back towards the exit, trying to clear the throne room.

"Shall we go to the healing rooms? I know it's our day off, but if there is a fight, they might need some extra helping hands." Ana offers.

The healing rooms are the last place Darcy wants to be right now. She is dying to know what is going on and to see Loki. She needs to know that he will be alright.

People are starting to push towards the exit, shooed by the Einherjar who reign in the masses like shepherd dogs do with sheep. Ana is moved along with the pushing people, reaching for Darcy to pull her with her.

Darcy shakes her head and frees her arm. "No, I'm sorry, I need to go look after someone."

Ana scowls and replies something, but her words are lost in the commotion the many people around them are making. She appears to give up, shrugs, gives Darcy a short wave and then disappears between those around her.

Darcy swallows a lump of guilt and watches her friend giving up her struggle against the current and moving along. But she wouldn't be of use right now. She needs to know Loki is safe. 

* * *

 

"You told him he was right?!"

Loki shucks off his cape of his shoulders and throws it unceremoniously onto his bed, next to where Darcy is sitting, her mouth wide open.

"Thor was in such a fit after father told him off. He was raging and I had hoped it would calm him!" Loki tries to defend himself as he pulls the soft chest piece of armour over his head and deposits it onto the back of one chair, moving to open his wardrobe to look for another one. "I wanted to make him feel like he still would have time to act in the future, that he didn't need to act right now. I _told_ him there was nothing he could to without defying our father. But instead he took it as a challenge, as he always does."

Darcy can only stare at his back in disbelief. "So much for the silver tongue."

Loki retrieves a black coat with tails and quickly shrugs into it, turning while doing up the buttons, throwing Darcy a dirty look. A daywear armour with silver metal padding and golden vambraces is dangling over his elbow and panic pools in Darcy's stomach as she imagines how this thin piece of cloth and silver should protect him against the blows of Jötun weapons.

"You were there the last time you fought Frost Giants and know what they can do." she says and her voice sounds weaker than she would have liked to sound. "Loki, they are dangerous."

Loki looks at her and for the first time since he stormed through that door, she can see fear shining in his eyes. He remains silent and she hopes he remembers how the last altercation with the Jötuns ended.

At that, another, more pressing thought shoots through Darcy's mind. "What if it happens again? How will you explain it to the others if any part of you suddenly turns blue?"

Loki's mouth twitches at the corners and he shakes his head. "It won't. It hasn't happened since. I touched Jötun skin for a moment and my magic probably mirrored my attacker's magic. It was just a defence reaction of my body."

Darcy gets up from the bed, drawing closer to him. "You don't know that for sure."

He is done buttoning up his coat and shoves his arms through the sleeves of the armoured vest. "Darcy, he is my brother. I cannot let him go alone."

"You are just afraid to look like a coward next to him and the warriors and Sif."

He clenches his teeth and reaches for the vambraces. "That is not fair."

"But we both know it is true. Loki, none of them care about you. They follow Thor because he is their friend. Would they follow you? No, they wouldn't."

"Thank you very much for reminding me that I have no friends." He retorts with a bitter grin.

"Don't be an idiot. This isn't about them or Thor, this is about you." Darcy snarls. "Do you really think you can stop them from causing a fight over there?”

"No, I won't. But I can't let Thor go alone. They need someone reasonable with them, other than those four fools. I might be able to negotiate between the two fronts. That is why I have to go."

Darcy is close to stomping her foot in protest. "No you don’t!"

"Yes I do." He takes a breath and avoids her gaze, busying himself with the buckles on his thighs. "Because I let the giants in." He has at least the decency to look ashamed.

Darcy needs a moment to process what he just said. "What?"

"I showed them a passage between the realms. They didn't know it was me, I was cloaked and hidden, I just pointed them on their way." He looks at her and at her appalled expression the words tumble from his mouth: "I just wanted to foil his coronation, his big day that he has been talking about all the time and that was all just another thing to feed his already giant ego!"

Darcy lets out a shocked laugh. "And you call yourself reasonable? What are you, a child? Is this all about Thor being in the spotlight instead of you? Do you even understand what you have done?" She can't help but shout. He cannot be serious right now.

Loki's face contorts into a mask of jealousy and contempt. " _Thor_ never thinks about consequences! The spotlight is always what it is about for him! He doesn't want to rule; he just wants to be King for all the attention. Thor is not fit to be King!"

"So you decided to let Frost Giants into the vaults?" She shouts right back at him, enraged at the pure idiocy of what he has done and set in motion all because of brotherly envy. "That was the best plan you came up with? Did you for one second think about those guards who tried to defend their King, their _princes_ ," she makes sure to give him a special stare at that word, "and died? All because you were jealous of Thor?"

She must have hit a nerve because she can see the shame reappearing on his face. "No-one was supposed to come to harm. I was counting on the Destroyer to do his work before the guards arrived." He runs his hand across his face in defeat. "Their blood is on my hands and I have to go with Thor to pay my duty and make sure no other innocent come to harm."

It is a little too late to take responsibility now but Darcy refrains from reminding him of that. "But then it makes even less sense to go!" she reasons, stepping into Loki's path."Innocents _will_ be hurt when you are going to Jötunheim. They are looking for the ones responsible and they won't find them there because the responsible one is standing on their own side!"

Loki scowls with disdain. "Frost Giants are far from innocent, as you may well know."

Anger flares inside of her at his words. "I _know_ what they can do, I was one of those tending to the wounded of the last skirmish, if you remember. But they are not responsible for this particular mess."

Loki opens his mouth, no doubt to chide her for chiding him, but she doesn't let him speak. "Loki, all that this is going to do is to endanger an already fragile truce with the Frost Giants!" She tries to plead. If she can make him see reason, he might not go. "Thor and the others will provoke them and attack them, thinking that they are right but they will only do more damage. Imagine what this may set in motion!"

Loki swallows and his eyes scan her face. Darcy lets the moment of silence sit between them, hoping it might add to her words. In his hands, he is still gripping a set of daggers waiting to be shoved into their respective holsters.

When he speaks, the little flicker of hope that Darcy has nurtured is extinguished. "Heimdall might not even let us through the Bifröst. And even if he does, I might be able to send a servant to warn my father." He adds the daggers in his hand to his armour and looks ready to leave, determination on his face.

Darcy moves to protest but Loki takes her face in his hand, all fight drained from his face as he looks at her. "I give you my promise to be careful."

She is still both too angry and too worried to reply and hangs her head in defeat. Loki gently pulls her closer to him and kisses her forehead, whispering against her skin: "I will come to you as soon as I can. If you want me to, that is."

He moves to leave but Darcy grabs his head in return, holding him there against herself. "Don’t think for a moment that I'm no longer mad. What you did was dangerous, selfish and wrong." She is silent for a moment, letting her words hang in between them.

Her voice is softer as she speaks again. "But please be careful and please, come back, safely" she whispers, the fight momentarily drained out of her.

Loki swallows and closes his eyes, pressing one last kiss to her forehead. The he lets go of her and leaves Darcy behind.

* * *

This time, she goes to the healing rooms. Ana is no longer there and apparently has gone home, now that she thinks that there is currently nothing to be done.

Eir is surprised to see Darcy in on her day off but Darcy dismisses it and says she wants to feel useful on such a day and of course, Eir is more than happy to oblige and supply her with work.

Darcy is still there, folding freshly laundered bandages when two of the Warriors Three are brought into the ward. If Eir is in any way suspicious as to how they came to be attacked by Jötuns, she doesn't show. She is not their judge, she is their carer, and once again Darcy marvels at her professionalism.

Fandral is quickly bandaged. A Jötun blade has pierced his upper body, or so he claims. He is lucky that the blades went right through his shoulder and damaged no organs. Darcy is present when Eir treats the burn wound on Volstagg's lower arm and has an eerie sense of déja-vu as he retells the story of how a Jötun grabbed his arm and how its magic had burned right through the leather and metal and through the top layers of skin. The wound looks like a typical frost bite but with a blue and grey tint to it. The skin is burnt into a scale-like texture and any touch of it must send shocks of pain through the victim, judging by how Volstagg howls and gasps when a healing ointment is applied.

Questions of the princes' whereabouts are burning inside of Darcy. If she only had one moment alone with the warriors - but asking it out of the question when it might shed light on her relationship with Loki. But she desperately needs to know they are safe and her hands are agitated and restless in her work. For more than two hours they treat the warriors, yet neither Thor nor Loki appear.

When Eir finally releases Darcy from her duty, and is kind enough to give her the next day off for her good work today, Darcy is dying to get to Loki's room.

They will have returned as well, she tells herself. The warriors would have alarmed anyone if they had been taken prisoner or if anything worse might have happened. At least that's what Darcy keeps telling herself. 

* * *

 

He is not in his rooms and is not waiting for her in hers, either.

The panic she has tried to keep in check is fighting for control over her thoughts.

_Where are you?_ , she wants to scream into the empty night at the palace. But there is no reply to her silent question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a quick note on this chapter: I long thought about maybe changing Loki's role in letting the Giants in, maybe as an act of rescuing Darcy, as an accident, etc. But it felt dishonest and like smoothing over the wrinkles and complexity of this character. Which is why he lets the Frost Giants in on purpose. But maybe feels a little more guilt about it, at least as far as we can tell.
> 
> Next chapter is nowhere near finished, so it might take me some time again :(


End file.
